


the highs, the lows, and the jello cups in between

by lorarawr



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mixed Media, No proofreading we die like mne, Soft boys being soft, Tarlos - Freeform, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr/pseuds/lorarawr
Summary: Vignettes from TK's recovery in the hospital. Featuring Owen as a tender father who loves!his!son, Judd being so over it, and Carlos knowing how to tame a surly tiger.Slightly AU because people don't go home that quick from being in a coma.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 11
Kudos: 369





	the highs, the lows, and the jello cups in between

TK wakes up on the third day, all grumpy frowns and bed head. He is the most beautiful sight Owen has ever seen. His boy looks all of 14 on the first day of school, disgruntled and confused and already so over it all. He squints in the brightness of the overhead lights, and his hands clench in the blankets, and he comes into awareness, and when his eyes finally come to rest on Owen, Owen finally exhales. How wonderful oxygen is after 96 hours of holding your breath. 

“Hey buddy,” Owen soothes, “Hey champ, you’re okay. I’m right here, okay? Dad’s right here.” He never stops reassuring TK, while simultaneously pushing the call button and stroking his son’s face. 

“Dad? What?” TK begins, but there is commotion as the doctors come into the room, interrupting the Strand reunion. All at once there are people checking TK over, reassessing vitals, and asking TK questions that make his frown furrow even more. Even as he is poked and prodded, his eyes seek out Owen constantly, and Owen can hear and see TK’s heart speed up every time a doctor blocks the line of sight between father and son. Without even mentioning it out loud, the medical team adjust so TK can always see Owen in the corner.

Eventually, most of the medical team clears out, leaving only the primary attending behind, who sits on a roll away chair and beckons Owen to do the same. Owen can’t for the life of him remember the man’s name.

“So, TK,” the doctor begins, “I know the last thirty minutes have been a little overwhelming to say the least. I hate to ask again how you’re feeling, but really- how are you feeling”

“Fine,” TK says, “when can I go home?”

The doctor- Dr. Butler, Owen finally recall- lets out a laugh. It is loud and jarring in the small room. It startles both Owen and TK, who glance at each other in surprise, while the doctor composes himself.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Butler chuckles, “that got me. I mean, TK, you’ve just come out of three-day level 2 coma. That fact that you are aware, verbal, and not dealing with dramatic cognitive issues is something alone to celebrate. I’m sorry kid, but I’m not letting you out of my sight for minimum three days, and that’s going to depend on a lot of people giving you the all clear: me, respiratory, physical therapy – to name a few.”

“But doc, I mean,” again, TK with that crumpled, confused, overwhelmed face right out of first day of school photos in kindergarten, “like, I’m fine?”

“You will be, TK, you will be.”

The doctor warns that though the scary part is over, recovery has just begun. On top of the brief coma, there is also the very real damage that a bullet did to his son’s body, blasting through muscle and sinew, bouncing off and tearing through lung, leaving torn and battered flesh in its wake. How dare anything hurt his son like that.

He will be weak for a while; hypovolemic shock a thing in and of itself to get over: dizziness, malaise, nausea all wrapped up in the general agony of a bullet wound that can’t be pain managed with normal opioids.

Owen believes his son is a giant, a knight who can conquer anything; he just wishes sometimes the mountains weren’t so damn high.

With the conversation coming to a close, and TK’s eyes dropping, Dr. Butler takes his leave, but not before smiling encouragingly at Owen. He recommends, as he has for the past three nights, that perhaps Captain Strand might be more comfortable going home to rest, and for the first time, Owen doesn’t immediately bristle at the notion. The next few days are going to be a lot, and even though he’s taken the time off from being captain of the 126, now with TK awake, he thinks normalcy and routine may work best for the already dosing boy in the bed.

With a final kiss on the forehead to his son, safe away in dreamland, Owen picks up his scattered belongings around the room. With a sigh that might be a tremble, or a sob, or moment of exhilaration (or maybe all three), Owen takes one last glance at TK before shutting off the lights and closing the door. He walks with a spring in his step down to his car, all the while messaging the team back at the house with the news. Excitement and encouragement and memes from Mateo abound back, and Owen can’t help the warm feeling that spreads across his chest. Judd responds with promises of cooked meals from Grace, Paul with first dibs at babysitting duty, and Marjan is apparently already concocting a scheme to sneak Buttercup in. There is shared complaining that Tim won the pool on when TK would wake up (because no one from his house would ever doubt his son’s resilience) and concern that somehow, Tim knew something the rest of them didn’t - furthering the legend that Michelle’s team are all witches. Owen for once, doesn’t immediately nip it in the bud, and just laughs as the conversation dips into conspiracy over paramedics and deals with the devil.

Sure, the next few days will be rough, not only for TK, but for those who love him, who have to watch him suffer through recovery. But just as Dr. Butler said, TK will recover; together there is nothing they can’t handle.

* * *

Two days later, Owen’s positivity is weaning and Judd’s patience is all but gone.

“I think I preferred you asleep, brother” Judd complains at the doorway, nodding to the physical therapist who is leaving the room. Leaving rather quickly, Judd mentally notes, but files it away to address more pressing matters.

“I think I preferred being asleep too,” TK responds, sitting surly in a chair by the window.

“Do you want to know that you made the rookie cry?” Judd retorts, walking fully into the room.

“I did?” TK asks, surprised, looking up at Judd, “Shit man, was he scared when I got shot? I can talk to him again, let him know that this is like, so far out of normal.”

“Well, I mean, Mateo wasn’t all that fine after you got hurt, but we were able to talk to him. I’ve been on the job 15 years and I’ve never seen someone taken out like a six-year-old quite like that.”

“You’ve seen firefighters get taken out other ways by six-year-olds?” TK asks, head tilting one side, “are six-year-olds the new assassins we know nothing about?”

“Buddy in LA once mentioned something about a bounce house,” Judd says, “but that is not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rodeo Ryder?” TK asks, crossing his arms, white hospital robe and anti-skid socks on.

“You,” Judd says, “making the rookie cry. Here,” Judd shoves his phone in TK’s face, message chain pulled up.

> > **Mateo:** yo dude please its your turn i cant take anymore  
>  **Judd:** why what’s going on  
>  **Mateo:** grumpy pants keeps sending me to the cafeteria to get him more jello  
>  **Judd:** good. His appetite back?  
>  **Mateo:** who knows man! all i know is it’s the wrong color jello  
>  **Mateo:** i didn’t even know there were that many jello colors  
>  **Mateo:** i went five times Judd. FIVE TIMES  
>  **Judd:** well did you find the right color?  
>  **Mateo:** :(

“I mean,” TK begins, “in my defense, he never asked what the right color was.”

Judd throws in hands up in exasperation, before reaching forward to ruffle the hair of the kid that will in one way or another, turn him grey.

God it is good to see him out of the bed, though, and beginning to act more life himself.

* * *

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Carlos says, leaning down to kiss TK softly on the lips.

TK grunts in return. It is day four since TK awoke, and one day past the first estimation of when Dr. Butler said he could go home. A time lapse TK is very aware of, and very vocal about. 

“Ahh, good day then?” Carlos responds, as he flops into the chain besides the bed.

TK just glares, through the glare is minimized in power by the combined adorable factor of a few days’ worth of beard scruff and the bed head that no amount of hand combing seems to fix.

“I just want to go home.” TK says, “I’m so over all of this. I want my bed, and my shitty cable day-time TV, and for the nurses to stop saying how brave I am, and I want to eat a pizza and wear normal people socks.”

“I know, tiger, but it’s looking good. The doctor said it could be as soon as Friday.”

TK flops back against his pillows, and plucks at the tape keeping his IV in place in his hand. “Friday is so far away.”

“Hey,” Carlos says, reaching out to hold TK’s hand and also to swat him away from playing with the tape “It is so much closer than where you were on Monday, you know, when no one knew if you were ever going to wake up.”

“I know, I know. I’m just cranky.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. We all know.”

“Hey!” TK exclaims, “I am being a model patient!”

“Model of what, model for dealing with grumpy patients?” Carlos replies, grinning.

“You have to be nice to me,” TK grumbles, but with a smile twitching at the corner of his eyes, while his fingers trace the knuckles of Carlos’ hand.

“Always.” Carlos responds, releasing TK’s hand, “now scooch over. I’ve had a long day and I need to get caught up on my soaps.”

TK readily agrees, giving Carlos’ enough space on the hospital bed to snuggle up next to him. Shoulder to shoulder, it feels intimate and comforting. It feels right.

“Long day?” TK says.

“The worst. Three words. Clown convention security.”

“No!” TK laughs, barely hiding a wince as the motion pulls on his stiches, and his lungs twinge at the extra work.

“Oh, how I wish I was.” Carlos groans, resting his head gently against TK’s.

“Tell me more about it?” TK asks.

“I don’t know if you are ready for such an action-packed story.” Carlos says, leaning forward in an attempt to read the monitors besides the bed.

“Please tell me you got to tackle a clown,” TK pleads, mood lifting.

“And then we can watch some soaps?” Carlos teases. “You being all laid up is my only chance to get up-to date on this particular guilty pleasure. My gym switched over to the news, and now I am so far behind.”

“Well sure.” TK grins, “but just so you know, the baby isn’t Willow’s.”

Carlos reaches over and punches TK very carefully on his good side, muttering _que pena_ under his breath.

“Okay, well it all started when the clowns went on a walking tour of Rainey street…”

TK relaxes to the sound of Carlos’s voice, and while he doesn’t fall asleep, he feels more rested than he has felt in days. 

**Author's Note:**

> that's it for now! But with social distancing, who knows when the bunnies might strike again. everybody wash your hands (but like, always, not just in the month of march??).
> 
> not pictured, me struggling for an hour trying to figure out how to embed a photo and ultimately admitting defeat and using text formatting for the text chain. 
> 
> come hang out with me on tumblr! @lora-rawr


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